This week, we’re all about the noise — sometimes expected, sometimes not. And we aren’t saying that noise is bad, because we’ve chosen four shows that you need to see. All are noisy in the most sublime way, and all of them make their sonic glories from established musical forms — blues, jazz, pop, rock.
Best of all, you can see all these shows for about $60.
Branford Marsalis is our favorite Marsalis. He records, and they’re all pretty straightforward efforts. He’s had the same band — pianist Joey Calderazzo, bassist Eric Revis and drummer Jeff “Tain” Watts — for 10 years, for a couple of very simple reasons. Musicians like to get paid, and they like challenges. Any pianist to has to follow Marsalis’ inventive, often John Coltrane-esque flights of fancy is going to be challenged.
Live, Marsalis is often like an impish kid. Memories come surging back of a concert at the Old Town School of Folk Music. Marsalis was interesting, inventive and exceptional. The place went crazy for the almost obligatory encore, and Marsalis played one. What he played was a blazing fast, head-out-the-window (not quite completely outside the melody) cover of “Dancing Cheek to Cheek.” You knew — before he told a stunned crowd — from the briefest visit to the melody toward the end. In between was a blizzard of notes, harmonic inventiveness and a band that, frankly, was showing off. Yet when guys let it all hang out in the service of the music, all’s good in the ‘hood. You can get a taste of his new disc, “Metamorphosen,” at branfordmarsalis.com. But if he’s that straight during the concert, we’d be quite surprised.
8 p.m. April 17, Symphony Center, 220 S. Michigan Ave. $24-$83; 312-294-3000 or cso.org.
Super Chikan isn’t a whack job. He’s an entertainer in the truest sense of the word, because if you hit one of his blues concerts, you will have fun. Lots of it, More than you have the right to expect for the piddlin’ sums they get for his gigs, and that’s OK. Everyone loves a bargain.
The Chikan’s real name is James Johnson, and his roots are in the Mississippi Delta. He learned to play from his mother, who also exposed him to blues, country and R&B. You can hear it all in his amazing music. Chicago blues devotees who venture south of downtown to places such as Lee’s Unleaded, will hear the jump and bump of soul music in Super Chikan crowd favorites. We would walk in the door and start screaming requests for “Hookin’ Up,” a party blues song that will have the most repressed concertgoers up and shuffling their feet.
People know him because of the crazy stories about him talking to chickens, and fabricating his own crazy guitars from scrap metal. But you should know him because he’s real deal blues, with a modern but Delta-steeped sound.
9 p.m. Friday, Buddy Guy’s Legends, 754 S. Wabash St. $15; 312-427-1190 or buddyguys.com.
Brother JT has made lots of music, but every time he comes to mind, “Way to Go,” the title track from his disc of the same name, comes to mind. It’s a languid sort of groove, all fuzzed-up and wah-drenched, that works its way into your brain like the most insidious ear worm. It’s a brilliant song, and one that is typical of his recorded output. He’s on Drag City, the little label that can and does (rather than could), which should tell you all you need to know about how close to the mainstream he is.
But listen closely to the music. It pulsates with Flower Power tinkles and gadgets, with bouncy rhythms and flat-out joyousness. Check it out at brotherjt.com. The All Music Guide calls his music “bluesy and trippy,” which only begins to get at the magic. He’s been acoustic, he’s been straight rock. His latest disc, 2008’s “Jelly Roll Gospel,” is an absolute delight that shouldn’t frighten off people who think that he does some weirdo indie nonsense. You’ve heard this music before if you’ve been near a radio in the 1970s.
You just haven’t heard it this way before.
9 p.m. Thursday, The Hideout, 1354 W. Wabansia St. $8; 773-227-4433 or hideoutchicago.com.
Acid Mothers Temple are a long-time favorite. They’re all hair, noise, fuzz and wah-wah abuse, with a monstrous recorded output. We would count them all for you, but the various collaborations, EPs and other efforts boggles the mind. Instead, we’ll just say this: The group, a self-described “soul collective,” blast the spheres. They’re psychedelic as the day is long and live, you never know what you’re going to get. They’ve done Tuvan throat singing, then blasts that hit the ear like a tsunami reminiscent of a meeting between Jimi Hendrix and John Coltrane.
If this were the ’60s, this Japanese collective would be playing the Woodstock Festival. But it’s 2009, so they’re playing the Empty Bottle, causing earplug-less hipsters temporary hearing loss. It’s rock ‘n’ roll, fueled by the lightning tempos of guitarist Kawabata Makoto, and we love it. Be forewarned, however, that you’ll be up past your bedtime.
10 p.m. Saturday, Empty Bottle, 1035 N. Western Ave. $13; 773-276-3600 or emptybottle.com.
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kmwilliams@tribune.com
